


Yves Saint Laurent(s)

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Daddy Louis, Dom Louis, Established Relationship, Harry in Panties, Light Dom/sub, Louis Tomlinson Wears Harry Styles's Clothes, M/M, Panties, Sharing Clothes, Spanking, Sub Harry, actually i can, also a little bit of, i can't belive that's a tag, only a tiny bit though, specifically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:57:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2528075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>havetotryquitehard on tumblr said "Harry Styles wearing Yves Saint Laurent(s)" and i ascended</p>
<p>heres fic of louis wearing his babys coat and his baby getting spanked. i might write more filthy daddy-kink follow up bc quite frankly this is nowhere near explicit enough also its way too short</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yves Saint Laurent(s)

“Isn’t that my coat?” is the first thing Harry says when Louis comes into the kitchen, half-finished cup of tea in one hand, iPhone in the other. 

“You haven’t worn it for ages,” Louis replies. 

Harry smirks up at him from where he’s sat at the breakfast bar, long slender legs bare, criss-crossed at the ankles. He’s the very picture of first-thing-in-the-morning sexy sweetness, wearing an oversize football jersey, and, Louis knows, a pair of lacy white panties. “I don’t mind,” he says, “you look sexy. Like a city boy off to make a few million. I’ll give you permission to wear it.”

Louis puts his tea in the sink, and checks the time on his phone before dropping it into his pocket. He’s got time. The car to take him to set shouldn’t be arriving for about another ten minutes.

“I don’t need your ‘permission’,” he says. He leans back against the counter; watches Harry’s face carefully. “You’re not the boss, Styles.”

Harry’s eyes narrow, but he’s still smiling. “Tomlinson,” he says, holding up his hand and wiggling his fingers. Louis’ black promise ring glints in the morning light. 

“Not just yet,” Louis says. “Gotta be patient, haven’t you? We’ve talked about this.”

Harry stands up, slipping from his stool to the floor like melted butter. Tousle-haired, tattooed, excruciatingly sexy butter. “I still think you’re taking way too long,” he says, and begins poking around in the drawers next to the fridge, apparently looking for something, though Louis is pretty certain he’s only doing it so he has a reason to bend over and give his boyfriend a good view of his kiss-bruised thighs and slightly-too-small underwear. “Better get a move on, pal, or I’ll have to get myself a replacement.” 

He’s still smiling - Louis can see the curve where his cheeks are raised by the corners of his pretty mouth - and he’s not being petulant, not trying to start a fight. Louis knows him too well to be upset by his words; he knows what he really wants. 

“So cheeky,” he says. “I can’t believe you’d talk to me like that. Aren’t you forgetting who’s in charge?”

Harry straightens, pulling a notebook out of the drawer he was rummaging through. “Me,” he says flippantly. 

“Eh-uhhh.” Louis makes a noise like a gameshow buzzer. “Want to try again?”

Harry looks at him from beneath his eyelashes, cheeks dimpling. He’s so fucking beautiful it takes Louis’ breath away. “It’s definitely me,” he says, and approaches the sink. “Move over,” he says, and steps right into Louis’ personal space. 

Louis makes a grab for him - Harry darts away, squealing, but Louis is too quick, knowing exactly the direction he’ll go in, the way his body will twist and bend and jerk - and his hands close on his boyfriend’s body, one on his left wrist, and one at his waist on his right-hand side.

Harry giggles manically. 

“One last go,” Louis says, and Harry squirms, shaking his head. “Who’s in charge?”

“Me!” Harry insists, and bursts into fits of giggles again when Louis shoves him, bending him over the counter and pulling both his hands behind his back. 

“Wrong answer,” says Louis, and, pushing an elbow into Harry’s back to keep him bent at the waist, he lifts Harry’s shirt so his panties are fully exposed. 

“Louis!” Harry says, drawing out the “eeee” sound in that way he does that is so ridiculously endearing, “you’ve got work!”

“I’ve got time,” Louis says, and he raises his hand, and spanks his boyfriend, landing his palm square in the centre of Harry’s right cheek.

Harry makes that “eeee!” sound again, squirming in Louis’ grasp, and Louis hits him again, on the left cheek this time, the impact dulled by Harry’s underwear. 

“Lou!” Harry says, wriggling in Louis’ grasp, though not quite vigorously enough to work himself free. 

“You’re a very naughty boy,” Louis says, and he spanks him again, and Harry bucks beneath him, simultaneously trying to get closer and further away. “Stop it,” Louis tells him, and now he pulls the panties down, just a little, just enough so that the soft, lightly warmed flesh of Harry’s bum is exposed. He spanks Harry again, this time relishing in the sharp sting of skin-on-skin - and now, Harry pushes backwards, pressing himself back against Louis’ crotch. 

“Oooh!” Harry says, and his voice is still full of laughter, and God, Louis loves him, “You’re hard, huh?”

“Oh, stop it,” Louis says, refusing to allow his voice to betray how he feels - he is getting hard, but he’s not about to let Harry go - and he lifts his hand once more, and brings it down, marking Harry’s skin with a bright red handprint. 

Harry squeals, half in pain, half in delight, and rotates his hips back again. “Yep, definitely hard,” he says, breathlessly.

Louis says nothing, and just spanks him harder. 

Harry squeaks and jumps, and Louis spanks him again, and Harry gasps, and pushes his hips up and back, actively seeking out his boyfriend’s hand, and Louis spanks him once more, and Harry trips over his own feet, making little breathy, gaspy sounds that send all of Louis’ blood straight to his dick. Harry’s own cock, he notices, is getting hard beneath the soft lace of his panties. 

Louis’ hand smacks down again, once, twice, three times. “You sorry?” he says. Harry says nothing, just continues to squeak and stumble, letting out little cut-off moans whenever Louis’ hand comes into contact with his pinking flesh. 

This isn’t an intense spanking session - not even close to it - but Harry is so responsive and easy to excite, and he does seem to be enjoying himself. Louis is enjoying himself too - he spanks Harry again - though he would definitely enjoy himself a whole lot more if he wasn’t so aware of the minutes ticking past, and could indulge both himself and his boyfriend by sinking balls-deep into Harry’s hot little bum. 

His cock twitches, and he realises he’s almost fully hard. He’ll have to stop, he thinks reluctantly, if he wants to be ready when the car comes for him. “Are you sorry?” he asks again. 

Harry moans, a little raspy sound that catches in his throat and hitches when Louis’ palm smacks down once again. 

“Are you sorry?”

Harry’s body slumps a little on the countertop. His skin is so pink, and so warm. 

“Who’s in charge?”

Harry mumbles something softly under his breath. 

Louis relaxes his hold on his boyfriend’s arms, just a little. “What was that?”

“You,” says Harry.

“Me what?” Louis asks. His hand hovers just above Harry’s bum. 

“You’re in charge,” Harry says. 

Louis raises his elbow, lets go of Harry’s body slowly. He always worries that if he moves away too rapidly Harry will collapse and splatter into a puddle of overheated, sexed-out boy.

Harry doesn’t fall, though - he just breathes heavily, and brings his hands steadily, clumsily up to the countertop. His cheeks are flushed, and his lips are bitten. Louis knows he would drop to his knees in an instant for him, if he asked. 

Still, he won’t. He is expecting the buzzer to go off at any moment. 

“Alright?” he says. 

Harry nods. “Mmm,” he says, straightening up a little. 

Louis strokes a hand over his reddened flesh, and Harry arches his back, pressing into it, like a contented cat. “Good boy,” he says, and he could swear Harry actually starts to purr. 

He laughs, pulling Harry’s panties back up over his bum, and steps back, letting his boyfriend turn around and press the lengths of their bodies together. Harry always gets like this, soft and pliable and cuddly after a session.

“Like it when you wear my things,” he mumbles into the lapel of Louis’ - Harry’s - Louis’ - coat. 

“I know, Kitten,” Louis says, and Harry preens at the pet name. 

On the other side of the kitchen, the buzzer sounds. Harry sighs. 

“Gotta go,” Louis says, and he kisses Harry on the cheek, and heads into the hallway, hoping his sunglasses are still on the phone table by the door. Harry trails after him like a little lost lamb. 

“Have a good day, poppet,” Louis says. He locates his glasses, puts them on, and kisses Harry one last time. 

“I’ll miss you,” Harry says, rather forlornly, Louis thinks, for somebody who’s just been treated to a pretty decent spanking. 

“I’ll miss you too,” he says, electing not to tease Harry about being a big baby who can’t stand being apart from him for a few hours. He runs his fingers through the other’s curly hair. “Be good,” he says, “have a bath. Watch TV. Look after yourself. I’ll be back soon.”

Harry sighs. “Okay,” he says. 

And then, just because his boyfriend looks so sad, Louis pulls him back in for another quick kiss, and one last sharp smack on the bottom. Harry squeaks in delight and surprise. “And when I say be good,” he adds, “I mean it. No playing with yourself, baby, or Daddy’ll have to punish you all over again.” 

He grins, letting go of him, and walks out backwards onto the porch, pulling the door shut. He turns around. The sun is out. The birds are singing. Out behind the gate he can see his driver waiting. Today is going to be a good day, he thinks, and strolls out across the driveway, wondering if Harry will obey his instructions. 

Either way it doesn’t matter. Honestly, the idea of Harry alone and touching himself, coming all over the soft white material of his panties is insanely hot. What is the point of making up silly arbitrary rules if Harry doesn’t break them once in a while? The punishments are half the fun.


End file.
